He would tell me I was good clay
Potential ready to be molded
And so he crafted me day by day
I was praised and I was scolded

I was his finest work of art
He had taken his valued time
This masterpiece had his heart
Never again I was one of his kind

So it hurt both so immensely
The maker learned to hate his hold
Threw to the side, he did to me
He'd find new clay soon to mold